


Prisoners

by owlmoose



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Other, demonic posession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-27
Updated: 2012-03-27
Packaged: 2017-11-02 14:16:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlmoose/pseuds/owlmoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ser Drass is unhappy with his life in Kinloch Hold, but he has everything under control. He's certain of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prisoners

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Dreamwidth community Are You Game. Prompt was "Dragon Age: Origins, any applicable/any applicable: seclusion - Being shut away in the Tower does things to a person’s head."

Drass leaned against the window and looked over the lake. The moon was full, and its pale light fell across the waters, drawing a line straight to the village. A village full of men and women and children, living their ordinary lives in peace. Was that too much to ask for? Apparently, for a templar, it was. He had known a few of his brothers to marry, but none who had a family, or anything resembling a life. It seemed a poor reward for Andraste's most faithful servants.

He glanced down at the note that he had found in his locker this morning, held half-crumpled in his hand. "Discuss options elsewhere within the organization," it said. Much as he hated being penned up in this tower, he could only imagine what that ominous sentence might mean. Chasing rumors of hedge-witches in the Bannorn? Guard duty at The Aeonar? Scrubbing toilets in Val Royeaux? 

Regardless of what fate awaited him, joining the Templars was the worst decision he had ever made. Drass closed his eyes, rested his forehead against the cool glass. If only there were some way out besides death, or renouncing his vows, thereby losing his soul to the Void. But perhaps nothingness might be preferable to letting this cursed life continue.

"Andraste's blood!" he muttered, hands pressing into the stone windowsill. Whether he cursed the Divine, the universe, or himself for allowing himself to give in to despair, he could not be certain. It was time for him to come off duty -- from the sounds of the shouting in Irving's office, it would be some time before the meeting was finished, but his guard shift was done, and he could look forward to a thrilling night of lonely silence in his quarters, perhaps broken by a summons from Knight-Commander Greagoir, perhaps not. He was not sure which to hope for, but one thing he knew: he had to stop taking the outer stairwell up to the templar floor. These glimpses of freedom only made his captivity worse. With a heavy sigh, he pulled away from the window and trudged up the stairs, down the corridor, and into his room, letting the door fall shut behind him. 

"Good evening, dearest." The voice came from the corner, soft and gentle, as familiar as though he had heard it all his life. 

Drass whirled around on one foot, pulling his sword in the same motion, narrowing his eyes. "Demon!" 

"Such a harsh word," the demon purred. She had the appearance of a desire demon, dark horns curling off her temples, liquid eyes staring into his, lithe body barely covered by a filmy purple gown. "I prefer to think of myself as a good fairy, a granter of wishes. And I know what you wish for, my darling boy."

"You're wrong," Drass replied, stalling for time as he gathered up his energy to strike. "I am sworn to celibacy, and I have no need of your kind. You will not work those wiles on me, creature."

"Ah, but that is not what you want, is it?" The demon crossed the room to him, and he froze still, unable to move as she rested her hand on his breastplate. "It is not the physical act of love that you crave, but the emotional intimacy of a lover. You want a woman who knows you, who loves you, who bears you children, who sees you as something more than a suit of armor and a threat." Her other hand lifted to his face, a thumb tracing the outline of his ear; her breath was warm on his cheek, and she smelled faintly of fresh bread. Like home. "Your Order, your Andraste, your Maker would deny you these things, but they are rightfully yours. I can fix that. I can make you whole."

Drass closed his eyes, felt the sword slip from his hand, heard its distant clatter against the stone floor. He could still smite her, destroy her with a single burst of divine energy, and she would trouble him no more. This was the moment he had trained for, after all, the whole reason for his sorry existence. But... should not his existence be for something more than loneliness and despair? 

No! He was stronger than this-- stronger-- he had trained-- he could defeat her-- defeat himself-- he could--

The scent of baking bread hit him again; he breathed of it, deeply, before opening his eyes. His wife looked up at him, a warm smile gracing her lovely face, as radiant as it was on their wedding day. "You made bread," he said.

"Of course," she replied, and he followed her glance to the sunny kitchen table, set with two loaves of bread and a vase filled with spring flowers. "Your favorite. Nothing is too good for you, dear husband."

He leaned down and kissed her, her soft mouth moving against his own, and he wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her close. All the memories of their life together came rushing back: the stolen kisses behind her father's barn, the night they danced together in the village square, their first tumble in the haymow, the look on her face as he picked straw out of her hair and asked her to marry him, the pride that swelled in his breast as she placed a child in his arms, a baby boy with his mother's dark eyes. Overwhelmed by emotions, he buried his face into the crown of her head. "I love you," he murmured into her thick auburn hair.

She pressed her lips against his collarbone. "And I love you, darling," she replied. "Now, shall we call the children in to supper?"

"Please," he said, and as she walked to the doorway to call their names and their family together, he thought he might burst with happiness. As he waited, he spared a glance out the window, the view over the lake to the heavy tower of Kinloch Hold. He had thought of being a templar, once, and sometimes he thought on that, how fortunate he was to have met his wife instead. Yes, this was where he belonged.


End file.
